


Monsters and Men

by galaxiestoexplore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Violence, Murder, Parental Death, Siblings, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, also it's kind of on the dark side, at least for now, disclaimer: this fic is not related to Of Monsters and Men, how come everything i post is supernatural, i guess? i mean it's supernatural so, i haven't posted anything in a Hot Minute huh, relationships are also implied, since they're Children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 10:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17181287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxiestoexplore/pseuds/galaxiestoexplore
Summary: The Winchesters grow up in a world haunted by monsters. But between soulmarks, John's disturbing philosophy, and Sammy's innocence, that's the least of young Dean's worries.





	1. Like Breath on a Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this fic in 2016. Given that (three-year) gap, I can't guarantee that I'll ever write more of it... although I do really love the premises and ideas set up in it, so Maybe.
> 
> inspiration credit to this tumblr post: http://saisai-chan.tumblr.com/post/91995033594/combefqueer-cinematicnomad
> 
> FUN FACT: this work was originally entitled "fuck my life," after I accidentally deleted it and had to rewrite the whole thing. fun times.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which soulmates are discussed, books are read, and some things disappear more quickly than they should.

“Tell me about soulmates again,” begged Dean, looking up at his mother with those big green eyes. Mary never could resist those eyes, whether they were looking up at her from the face of her four-year old son or crinkling around the edges as her husband smiled.

“All right,” she agreed, and Dean wriggled around in her lap, his face adoring. She shifted her weight and stroked his sandy hair to get him to settle down, hopefully before he bruised her legs with his moving about.

“When you’re born, the universe matches you with someone who’s absolutely perfect for you. Your soulmate. The first words they ever say to you, in their handwriting, are written somewhere on your skin,” she explained.

“Like a birthmark,” Dean piped up.

“Like a birthmark,” Mary agreed, smiling. Dean pulled up his little left foot and rested it on her knee, examining a birthmark on the big toe.

“What does it feel like when you meet them?” he asked.

“It’s like angels singing,” she told him, her eyes misting over with memories. “You just feel so happy, like you’re floating on a cloud.”

“Can you sing to me? Please?” he asked, beaming angelically with an adorable combination of freckles and dimples that really wasn’t fair. Mary beamed down at him, fingers threading through his soft brown hair.

And then she spun a melody, her voice sliding smoothly from register to register, and Dean cuddled into her, his eyes slowly closing until his breaths evened and he was asleep.

 

_Shall I stay,_

_would it be a sin…_

_if I can’t help falling in love with you?_

 

***

The first words out of Dean’s mouth as he burst through the door to his mother’s hospital room were “What are his words?”

“Slow down, kiddo, let your mother rest. She did just give birth to your baby brother,” said John, following after his son and leaning in the doorframe.

“It’s all right,” said Mary. “Come see if you can read them.”

John opened his mouth to protest as Dean clambered up onto his mother’s hospital bed and peered down at his baby brother. Mary pointed at the little red arm.

“I… I’ve… been… moh-ping…”

“Mopping,” she corrected gently.

“Mopping, this… fl, floor, for… six… ya-years. It’s too long for his arm.”

“He’ll grow into it,” Mary reassured him. “After all, yours is long too.”

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from pruition!” Dean recited proudly.

“Perdition, honey.” Mary hid the furrow in her eyebrows that always appeared when Dean mentioned his words. Knowing what she knew about Hell, and everything… she didn’t like words like that on any of her boys. She’d have to keep them safe— Dean, John, and now the baby.

“Why don’t we go get some ice cream, Dean, and let your mom get some sleep,” said John. Mary smiled at him gratefully. Dean punched the air with his little fist and scrambled out to the hallway as fast as his short legs would carry him.

“Have you thought of a name yet?” John asked his wife in the sudden calm.

“Actually, I have,” she replied. “Samuel… to go with Dean. If it’s okay with you.”

“Of course it is,” he replied. “I mean, who else would we name him after? My deadbeat dad? No way. I love _Samuel_.” He smiled at her one last time, moving closer to squeeze her hand.

Mary watched lovingly as he walked out, Dean’s voice echoing in the hallway. Dean was bouncing, and John was laughing, and apart from the pain of labor… if all days were like this, their little family was going to be better than amazing.

***

It was about a year later than Dean learned about another of the universe’s tricks, and it was a lot less sweet than soulmates.

The fire seemed to have sucked all the color out of the world, like it had burned so bright that when it went out, nothing was left. Like it had eaten happiness and vibrancy instead of just oxygen. Like it had taken something more intangible than the Winchester’s home, and Mary.

John didn’t take Dean out for ice cream anymore, and he didn’t smile much either. He was gone for whole days, leaving Dean (who didn’t have school or anything better to do) to look after Sammy in dingy motel rooms. John never said “I love you” or “Stay safe” or “I’ll be back soon” or “Don’t worry.” He said “Take care of Sammy.” So Dean did.

He read to Sammy a lot, because there wasn’t much else to do and because his mother had told him that it made babies smarter if you read to them and interacted with them as much as possible. He thought she would be proud that he kept doing it, even after… well, after.

Before, Mary would read to Sammy in her smooth, soft voice, and Dean would listen in, crawling right up against her side and staring at the squiggles on the page until they started to make sense. He wondered if reading made him smarter, too, especially since he seemed to listen more than Sammy, who fell asleep a lot and drooled all over Mary’s shirts. She would read stories about King Arthur and his knights, and Dean and Sammy would listen. After a while, she let Dean read some of the words, and then sentences, until he could read the whole story of Lancelot to Sammy all by himself.

Now, it was just Dean, stumbling over words sometimes, but still going.

John opened the door, stains on his shirt and a shadow across his face that wasn’t from the setting sun or his lack of a shave.

“Dean, come outside a minute, I need to talk to you.” Dean set down the book, casting a look at Sammy, who was gurgling on the bed.

“He’ll be fine,” John said sharply. “Come outside.”

Dean followed his father out into the concrete hallway, awash with the orange of sunset, feeling a pit of dread deep in his stomach.

“Dean, did your mother ever tell you what happens when you kill someone?” John asked, squatting down (he was still taller than Dean). His face looked foreign, but Dean couldn’t put his finger on why.

He shook his head. He couldn’t remember Mary ever talking about anyone being killed, except for one time when the news blared louder than usual and she had looked very sad.

“Well, when you kill someone, you get their best quality. Whatever they are the proudest of, you get that,” said John. “But you lose something of yourself. Do you understand me, Dean?”

Dean nodded, even though he didn’t, not really. What did killing people have to do with anything?

“Monsters are not people, Dean. You can kill monsters and not lose anything of yourself. This is important, Dean, you understand?”

“Yes,” said Dean. Monsters? Monsters didn’t exist. He just wanted to go back inside, where the bed was soft and he could finish reading to Sammy.

John stood up, towering, and opened the door to let Dean flee back to the safety of the bed. Sammy was still gurgling contentedly, clacking together two red blocks.

As John pulled his dirty shirt off, clouds of steam billowing out of the shower, he poked his head back out of the bathroom.

“Remember, Dean. Monsters are not people.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Mary. Even in death, she's a much better mom than John was a dad.
> 
> Let me know what you think of the story in the comments!


	2. Whistle, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the story continues to get darker, mostly.

John Winchester was wrong. Dean knew it the first time his father brought him along on a hunt, a gun cold in his shaky hands, when he pulled the trigger and watched the girl— the vampire— stumble back, blood seeping out between her fingers and spreading dark across her blouse. He knew it as his hands slammed into his chest, pushed back by the firearm’s recoil, and he knew it as John stepped out of the shadows and neatly sliced off the vamp’s head. The body thumped down as if in slow motion, and the head thudded down a second later.

He knew his father was wrong by the inhuman gleam he saw in his eyes, just for a split second. He knew it as John clapped him on the back, a spray of red on skin, and he knew it that night, when all he wanted to do was throw up.

That night, Dean shivered even under two sheets, a bedcover, and a blanket, until Sammy rolled over next to him and hugged him. Eventually, even his heartbeat slowed, and he dropped into an uneasy sleep.

***

The hunts came faster and faster after that. Sammy was old enough to stay home by himself now (at least according to John; Dean wasn’t certain that five really constituted “old enough”), and Dean figured that if he fulfilled all of his father’s requests, then maybe, _just maybe_ , Sammy wouldn’t have to learn to kill. If Dean gave up _his_ homework, Sammy could get good grades, and then Sammy could get out of the whole thing. Someday. Maybe.

The first time Dean killed, four years after his first hunt, he was twelve. It was an abandoned warehouse, and a werewolf, and a silver bullet, and as he saw the body fall, the only thought in his head was _what will I lose?_

Later in the night, John went out to the parking lot to drink (or something), and Dean and Sammy huddled on the bed, talking about soulmates with the sheets twisted around them.

“When do you think we’ll meet ours?” Sammy asked, grabbing his left wrist and twisting his arm to take a closer look at the words.

“Maybe at school, or maybe they’ll be friends of Bobby’s,” said Dean, lying on his back and kicking his legs in the air.

“Can you imagine a friend of Bobby’s mopping a floor for six years?” Sammy asked.

“Maybe if they were retired. Or a janitor,” Dean said, eyes sparkling. “Your soulmate’s a _janitor_.”

“Whatever,” Sammy said, pushing his laughing brother off the bed. “Yours uses complicated words.”

“They’re probably a giant nerd, like you,” said Dean, earning a punch in the shoulder. “Perdition. It means damnation, I looked it up.”

“In a dictionary? Who says I’m the nerd?” said Sammy, grinning.

Dean’s heart was sinking a little, though. Ever since he’d started hunting, he’d had a vague idea of Hell being a real place where demons went. If that was the first thing his soulmate ever said to him… then he was going to Hell. Probably. Maybe he wouldn’t meet them until he died. How bad did someone have to be to go to Hell? Was he inherently evil? Or a monster? What made someone a monster?

Was killing someone an unforgivable sin?

If you killed enough, would you become a monster yourself?

Dean didn’t voice any of his worries. After all, he hadn’t told Sammy any of their father’s revelations about murder… especially after the day’s events. The kid had enough to worry about without thinking that his older brother was going to become some unrecognizable stranger.

John’s footfalls in the hall made Sammy stop abruptly in the middle of wondering if there was a theatrical play with Dean’s soulmate words in it, and the two brothers jumped off the bed. Their father didn’t exactly approve of this kind of conversation.

Their mother, on the other hand… Mary would’ve loved it. Mary would’ve told them stories about it. But Mary was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.

***

Two days later, Dean realized that he couldn’t whistle anymore.

It had been his and Sammy’s signal that their dad was in a bad mood, and when John came back that night drenched in blood and growling under his breath, Dean was sitting on the bed doing his math homework. Sammy was playing with some action figure he’d found on the side of the road, in the next room, and John opened the door so hard it slammed. Dean jumped, pursed his lips, and blew, but no sound came out. Crap. John wasn’t going to like it if he found Sammy playing with toys, so Dean had no choice but to cut him off.

“Hey, Dad!” he exclaimed loudly, hoping Sammy had got the hint. “How was the hunt?”

“Bad,” John grumbled quietly. “Ghost. Can’t find any physical remains, had to get back for the night.” He made a move toward the bathroom, and Dean blocked him.

“Move, Dean.” Dean’s hands shook.

“Let me get your bag for you, Dad…”

“Hey, Dad!” Sammy came bounding out of the other room, action figure nowhere in sight. Dean let out the breath he’d been choking on and grabbed his father’s duffel bag, high-tailing it to the table by the window.

“Hey, Sammy.” His dad ruffled a weathered hand through his brother’s hair. “Let me go take a shower, okay?”

Sammy grinned, then ran over to where Dean was sitting. As soon as he was faced away from John, he dropped the smile.

“Hunting?”

“Yeah.” Dean fingered the necklace Sammy had given him, hidden under his shirt. The kid picked up clues fast, especially after Dean had told him what their dad really did a month ago.

“Dean, did you go with him?”

“Shh.” Dean slapped a hand gently across his brother’s mouth. Sammy struggled for a minute, protesting squeakily against his palm, until the sound of water whooshing out of the showerhead drifted through the bathroom door and Dean removed his hand.

“What was that for?”

“Dad doesn’t know you know, you gotta be quiet about it.”

“So? Has he taken you?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, looking down at his lap.

“How long?”

“Four years.”

“FOUR YEA—“

This time, Dean was quicker with his hand. “I said, shut up! If he hears you, he’ll be mad at both of us.”

“Four years?” Sammy whispered loudly. “You’ve been going for four years and you never told me?”

“I didn’t want to make you more scared of the dark than you already were,” Dean replied gruffly. “Besides, it’s not like I did anything most of the time. I sat in the car a lot. It was boring.”

“You could’ve gotten killed!”

“Dad was right there. He wasn’t gonna let anything happen to me, it was fine, Sammy.”

“You don’t know that!” Sammy looked like he was on the verge of tears, but instead he surged forward and wrapped his arms around Dean. “I don’t wanna lose you.”

“You won’t. I’ll be careful.”

Sammy pulled back, his hands still on Dean’s shoulders and a few tear tracks shining on his face. “Wait, have you ever killed a monster?”

“I… Naw, I’m not old enough yet, Dad doesn’t think I’ve got enough experience”

“Oh.”

Dean wasn’t sure why he’d lied, but he knew he couldn’t tell Sammy that he’d killed someone, even if that _someone_ happened to have fangs and a thirst for human hearts. It just didn’t seem right. He wasn’t going to be the one to erase the light from his brother’s eyes.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“How come you yelled instead of whistling?”

“What?”

“Today. When Dad came home. You’re supposed to whistle: high, then low. You didn’t do it. How come?”

Crap. “Oh, uh, when I was out hunting with Dad I sorta chipped the inside of my front tooth. You, uh, you can’t see it really but I don’t think I’m gonna be able to whistle anymore.”

“Does it hurt?” Sammy, always worrying about him. Kinda sweet, if you thought about it.

“A little. Not much.”

“I guess we have to come up with a new signal, then.”

“Yeah, I guess we do.”

Dean sighed with relief internally. He didn’t love lying to his brother, but if it kept him in the dark about stuff that goes bump in the night and takes your personality, then it would be fine. They would be fine. He would keep hunting, and Sammy would keep pretending that he thought their dad was a mechanic, and it would all be okay.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is almost all of what I've got so far.
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments!


End file.
